


Worth the Risk

by joeyjwitter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, completely and totally AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joeyjwitter/pseuds/joeyjwitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jake Griffin is murdered during a shootout caused by The Reapers, a very powerful gang, Clarke demands justice for her father’s unfortunate death. After the police fail to gain the criminal’s location, Clarke decides to take matters into her own hands and obtains the help from The Reapers rival gang’s leader, Bellamy Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I have to be honest and say I'm actually really nervous to post this because I got such amazing feedback on Friendly Favors and this is completely different from it. I've never been much for angst (at least the way I write it) but with a plot like this, there's going to have to be. I also did my fair research on gangs, how they live, how they act, etc, and I've changed a few things just to benefit the story. 
> 
> I think that's all I have to say. Oh, and ENJOY!

The night she finds out about her father, she’s locked away in her dorm room, highlighter in hand as she tried to memorize her notes for organic chemistry. Her phone buzzed once to signal the incoming call but she ignored it. She had rolled her eyes when she saw ‘Mom’ across the top of her screen and instead opted to turn the device off. She didn’t have enough energy to deal with her mother’s endless questions so she made a mental note to give her a call back when she was finished. The thing with Clarke though – she was _never_ finished. There was always more things to know. She was definitely her parent’s daughter; stubborn and studious. It wasn’t until a few hours later, when she was almost dozing off at her desk, that there was a loud banging on the door.

The unexpected sound caused her to jump and her roommate Harper to all but fall out of her bed. They shared a worried glance that delivered the unspoken question: _who the hell could that be?_   She glanced at the clock before getting out of her seat, it was nearing midnight, too late for any visitors. _Well obviously not_ , she thinks. The rapping continues and then there’s a voice to go along with it. It caused her to stop in her tracks when her mind registered the familiarity.

“Clarke, are you in there?”

_Wells?_

She raced over to the door and pulled it open to reveal her best friend. His eyes darted up to meet hers and she instantly knew something was wrong. Actually, if she was being honest, she knew something had to be wrong the moment she heard his voice outside of her dorm room at this time a night when his school was at least an hour or so away. He swallowed thickly and he seemed to be holding back tears.

“Wells, what is it?” she questioned. The anxiety inside her building up. She heard the ruffle of sheets from Harper’s bed before the girl was standing behind her.

“It’s your dad,” he told her, “He was shot.”

Her eyes widened at the information, “Wha… _what_? Is he okay?”

Wells took a step forward only for her to take one back, she collided into Harper and mumbled an incoherent apology.

Clarke refused to acknowledge the sympathy in his dark orbs. She felt her world come crashing down, no tears fell but she did. Her body shook, the air left her lungs, and her knees had hit the ground so hard that Harper winced for her. She willed her lungs to expand as Wells dropped down in front of her. His arms barricaded her into his chest as he rocked back and forth.

It wasn’t until she had returned home the following evening, to find her mother a wreck and the story. The police notified both her mother and her father’s good friend, Thelonious, of what had happened. He was downtown when the incident occurred, they found his body at Oxford Road, a place Clarke has been taught to stay away from since a very young age. There was a shootout, which unfortunately took place almost frequently around that area, and claimed her father’s life.

They had found a red and black bandanna nearby (as if it was purposeful – to title their barbarous ways) and by evaluating the bullets used, they came to the conclusion it was the work of The Reapers. One of the most violent gangs Clarke has ever heard about and they were only officially known two years now. Cops were never able to catch them all, they were a small group of people, always finding new places to hide out. Never revealing their identity when committing their heinous crimes, she had never thought there would come a time when they would affect her personally.

-

The day of the funeral, she holds her mom tightly. She tries not to think about her father’s lifeless body getting lowered into the ground right in front of her. She glares up at the cloudless sky, the Arizona sun mocking her. Abby squeezes her daughters arm as if reading her mind, Clarke catches her eye and leans her chin against her shoulder. They had their fair share of fights and they weren’t exactly the ideal example of a mother-daughter relationship but they needed each other now more than ever.

After the burial, everyone gathered at the Griffin’s. There’s a lot of food and even more soft murmurs of condolences. It’s only ten minutes in when she feels the accustomed light headedness and chest tightening and she needs to escape. She hurries up her steps and into her bedroom, grateful for the fact that nobody had witnessed her movement. She locks the door behind her before sliding against it onto the floor. She doesn’t stop until her back is splayed against her carpet and she breathes in and out as slowly as she can. She wants to sleep and be unconscious for hours but ever since the night she found out about her dad, her body refuses to shut down.

So she stays like that, staring up at the ceiling, for God knows how long. She feels slightly guilty about leaving her mother down there but she has Thelonious and she really just needs to be by herself for now. When she finally gets herself to stand again, she opens the door to see Wells sitting with his back against the wall. She wonders idly how long he’d been waiting. He looks up at her and she feels the need to break down all over again. He seems to sense her upcoming reaction because he jumps to his feet and pulls her into an embrace. It’s all too familiar and she chokes on a sob and her knee’s buckle as if they were waiting to give out any second.

He holds the nape of her neck while she cries into his shoulder before she starts to get drowsy and her lungs refill with air as he shuffles them backwards until they’re sitting on her bed. She slowly climbs under the blankets with Wells hand in hers. He whispers how strong she is but she doesn’t feel strong. She feels weak. She feels helplessness. She feels anger. Clarke doesn’t admit that out loud though, instead closes her eyes and squeezes his hand with as much force she can muster.

“What do you need?” he asks quietly, his voice is strained as he meets her gaze, “You’re not alone in this, Clarke. I’m here for you.”

“I know,” she replies equally as soft, “Thank you.”

They stay like that for hours, hands clasped together, before her eyes feel heavy and her dreams of her dad still being alive take over.

-

Its eight days later when she decides she knows what she wants to do. Clarke Griffin was not someone who left things undone and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start doing so with her father’s homicide. She knew she would have her work cut out for her when it came to finding her father’s murderer but at least she had a lead: The Reapers. Clarke wasn’t naïve enough to think she’d be able to do this alone but her brain kicks into overdrive and she registers the name of a girl she used to be friends with. Raven. Raven Reyes. They met their sophomore year of high school and even coming from two separate worlds, the two girls clicked better than most.

Her parents adored her too, they always offered for her to stay for dinner, stay the night, stay for days, and Raven (who hated to be pitied but didn’t mind the comfort of the Griffin’s) always agreed with a rare genuine smile on her face. The reason her name had come to mind for her plan was that throughout their senior year, Raven had discussed becoming a part of The Ark, which was a gang that had existed way before Clarke was even born. She tried to get her friend to think it through, told her that she could always stay in her home when she heads off to college but Raven wouldn’t have it. She explained that they were giving her choices she never had before (a place to live, a job as a mechanic/engineer, and even a family.)

By the time graduation rolled around, Raven was already in. Clarke only received a hug and a soft ‘good luck’ before she left for school. It’s been three years since she last spoke to Raven but she hoped with every fiber in her being that she still had the same cell number. She worked up the courage before she dialed the number (being a pre-med student, she learned to memorize almost everything.)

It rings four times before, “Hello?”

A flood of memories wash over Clarke and her breath hitches, “Raven?”

There was no mistaking the irritation in the girl’s tone, “Who the hell is this?”

“It’s Clarke,” she responds and the other side of the line goes silent, “Raven –,”

“Clarke?” she repeats, her tone now gentle, “Clarke Griffin?”

Clarke idiotically nods her head but she has trouble forming words at the sound of her old friend’s voice, “Yeah, it’s me.”

“I heard what happened,” Raven says quietly, “I’m sorry. Your dad was a good guy.”

She closes her eyes briefly, her heart sinking, “Thank you, Rae,” she hopes she isn’t over stepping using the former nickname, “That’s actually why I’m calling.”

“What do you mean?”

Clarke stares out her window, it’s another beautiful day out, her mother’s car is gone, she had started going back to work the day before and Clarke doesn’t comment on it for the sole reason she’s hoping it’s keeping her mind busy, “Can I meet you anywhere?”

-

They meet somewhere in the middle, in a coffee shop called MUGS on the corner of Auburn Street. Clarke is the first to arrive and she waits with an anxious tap in her foot and a warm coffee in her hand. She spots Raven as soon as she walks through the doors, her brunette locks up in her usual ponytail and sporting a red jacket. Her eyes are searching for her and as soon as they land on Clarke, the blonde stands. She places the coffee onto the table and is slightly taken aback when her arms wrap around her.

“Clarke,” she whispers and clings tighter and Clarke welcomes the familiarity as she returns the embrace.

When they pull apart, Raven grips her elbows to keep her close, “How are you?” she asks.

Clarke sways her head from side to side, “Better.”

She signals for Raven to take the seat opposite her and she does. She turns the chair around first and straddles it to rest her arms over the top. Clarke almost smiles when she mentally puts it on the list of things that still hasn’t changed about Raven Reyes.

“I could really use your help.”

Raven raises her eyebrows, “What kind of help?”

“I want to find the person responsible for killing my father,” she surprises herself with how her words come out even and strong, “I know whoever it was, they’re a part of The Reapers.”

Raven stares at her, her expression pensive before she replies, “I’ll do you one better,” there’s a slight upward twitch at the corner of her lips, “I’ll get you the help of our leader.”

-

So that’s exactly how Clarke ends up where she is now. She’s standing at the corner by an old warehouse which Raven informed her is The Ark. Its chipped paint and old cement but its stable and large. She feels the unsettling discomfort pool in her stomach as she waits for the gang leader. She’s grateful for the fact that Raven is standing beside her or else she probably would have dipped after scanning the unfamiliar area. It’s not quite like Oxford Street but it’s definitely nothing like the town she lives in.

Ten minutes pass when Raven mutters a ‘finally’ and Clarke snaps her head up to see someone leaving the building. The first thing she notices about him is that he’s tall. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and a solemn expression. When he’s a few feet away from them, she takes in his bronze skin, broad shoulders, and dark curls. She figures he must be at least four of five years older than her and that’s when she realizes exactly who he is.

“Raven,” he lifts his chin up in greeting. His voice is low and gruff.

When his eyes move from Raven to Clarke’s she wills herself not to back down from his stare, instead only straightens.

“Bellamy,” Raven returns the gesture, “This is Clarke.”

Clarke holds out her hand but Bellamy only narrows his eyes, darting his gaze from her outstretched hand to her face. She pulls back immediately, almost too frightened to be embarrassed.

“Clarke wants –,”

“Yes, I know,” Bellamy interrupts, “You told me already. Now head back inside, Monty needs your help with surveillance.”

Clarke’s eyes widen momentarily when she realizes she’d be alone with him. With a gang leader. With _the_ gang leader.

Raven looks over at Clarke and nudges her shoulder, “You’ll be fine.”

Clarke manages a nod as her friend passes Bellamy, she hears a hiss of “be nice” before she’s heading inside the warehouse. They stand their awkwardly for a few minutes. Well for Clarke it’s awkward. Bellamy just seems to be studying her, his arms coming up to cross over his chest, his eyes still narrowed, she almost feels faint.

“Do you speak?” he questions, “Or do I need to haul Raven back here?”

Clarke is slightly dumbfounded by his words, she didn’t know where to start, he had already stated that he knew her situation when Raven was about to repeat it.

“I speak.”

He inclines his head to the right, “Yeah? Well tell me,” he drawls out, “What do you want?”

Clarke’s eyebrows draw in from confusion, “You just said Raven told –,”

“I want _you_ to ask me,” he tells her and she almost gulps under his scrutiny, “What does the privilege need?”

She should have figured he just wanted to hear her pleads and under other circumstances she would have snapped at him for being so… _smug_ about this. She had just lost her father and he was using it to his advantage and amusement that a privileged girl like her wanted _his_ help but then again she was using the fact that he was in a gang to her own benefit, so she gives in,

“I _need_ your help.”


	2. Chapter Two

Bellamy continues to stare, he’s face blank (which was extremely frustrating to Clarke). After uttering her words, he lets seconds tick by in silence before he slowly unfolds his arms and she takes that as a sign that he’ll say something. Anything. Well – maybe not _anything_. She’s not exactly sure what she’ll do if he rejects and turns her away. She’d still go after her father’s murderer that’s for sure, she wouldn’t stop until she found righteousness but she’d have to come up with a whole new plan.

“And why should I help you?”

Clarke is curious about what the conversation Raven and Bellamy had over the phone was like. Did he tell her that he agreed to help only for Clarke to come and him to act like a complete bastard?

She thinks quickly on her feet, “I can help you in return.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows furrow as if to say: how the hell was this little mass of blonde hair supposed to be any useful to him?

She notes his suspicion so she continues, “I was studying pre-med. I can help with anything medical related.”

She thinks he looks to be considering it, his expression still neutral but there was a hint of wonder in his eyes, “You do realize that you’re putting your life at risk.”

Clarke swallows hard, his words were cold and emotionless as if the thought of death wasn’t something he feared, “I understand that, yes,” she says only causing him to quirk a brow in return, “Some things are worth the risk.”

He remains quiet for a while before he flexes his pointer finger at her, “You won’t breathe a word about this to anyone you know,” he told her and her eyes broaden in astonishment because she just made a fucking deal with Bellamy Blake, “You are _not_ a part of us, to everyone else besides Raven your only service is medical assistance, and you will come to me and only me about information that concerns your father’s murderer. Is that clear?”

His assertiveness was slightly terrifying but Clarke achieves a quick nod, “Thank you, Bellamy.”

He grunts before inclining his head towards the old warehouse, “Follow me.”

She keeps her distance as she shadows his tracks, worried that even a slight brush of their arms would cause him to blow up on her. He was being so unlike Bellamy.

To be fair, she really didn’t know _Bellamy_. She knew the stories though, how he was initiated at a young age (Clarke’s not sure what age exactly), how he was feared by many, and that he was simply not someone to fuck with.

Growing up Clarke had it well, more than well actually, she had a very sheltered life. With her father as a wealthy engineer and a surgeon for a mother, she didn’t have to worry about much – if anything at all – so she’s not exactly sure what to expect around here. When Bellamy stops in front of the back passage door, she watches as he slips out his key from his pocket to open it, and she’s welcomed into a whole new world. He leads her down a hallway, the walls are white and there are a couple of other doors she passes before he stops again.

It’s so abrupt that she almost runs into him, fortunately enough, she caught herself by a few inches. He jiggles the handle roughly, she hears him curse under his breath before the door pops open to reveal a semi empty room. There are no windows, graffiti against the white walls, a large iron table in the middle, and a few worn out chairs scattered around.

“This would be where you’d work,” he says, “I could get you a few things. Simple things like bandages –,”

“It’s fine,” she says before he could finish, “I actually have some kits back home.”

He looks down at her before bobbing his head up and down once, “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeats.

“Bring them by tomorrow,” he closes the door swiftly, “You can go now.”

Her eyebrows draw in at the hostility, “That’s it? We didn’t even get to discuss anything regarding my father.”

“We can _discuss_ tomorrow,” he says, his voice rough, as if it was a warning tone. _It probably is_ , she thinks, “Now leave.”

Bellamy doesn’t even wait for her to say anything else as he turns on his heel and moves to the staircase behind the door a few feet away, she listens to his boots hitting each metal step before the sound disappears and she finally walks away.

Clarke was well aware that her curiosity and/or stubbornness was going to get her into trouble one day, _big_ trouble. She can pretty much hear her mother’s exasperated voice in her head, ‘ _Just listen, is that so hard?_ ’’ and apparently it was. She chose to ignore Bellamy’s words, instead walking down the corridor and around the corner. She couldn’t help but let her mind wonder about life in this part of town.

The floor was empty and instead of doors leading to rooms, there was couches lining up against the wall, a television set (small but properly hooked up to the wall as well), and empty cans littering the carpeted floor. There was also blankets tossed to the side and there was no mistaking the bong on the coffee table in front of the ratty lime colored sofa.

She’s about to continue on her journey when she feels the pressure of someone’s hands against her shoulders and then her legs are kicked out from under her and she falls to the floor with a thud.

“Who the hell are you?” a voice demands, rolling her over so his knee presses against the middle of her throat causing her to gasp for air. He’s wearing a hoodie and his hair covers one of his eyes and almost half his face.

“Cl – I can’t –,”

Clarke tries her best to wiggle under his hold but it’s no use and it only makes it more painful for her. The boy’s gaze is hard as he backs his knee away only to shove it back to its previous position. She feels tears spring to her eyes as she chokes out her name but it comes out gurgled and incoherent.

She feels herself getting lightheaded from lack of oxygen before the boy was suddenly heaved backwards and onto the ground. Clarke cries out in relief, her hands moving to her neck and letting her lungs fill back up with much needed air. Her eyes drift towards Bellamy who was now standing by her feet, his strong jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed as he stares down at her. She swallows thickly while mentally chastising herself, _good job Clarke, its barley been ten minutes and you managed to piss him off already_.

“What the fuck?” her attacker yells in exasperation as he shifts back to his standing position, his hand stretching to rub his back where she heard it smack against the floor when Bellamy pulled him off.

“She’s with me,” his tone gave him no room for questioning, “She’s a doctor.”

Clarke manages to stand slowly, her heart racing uncontrollably. She wasn’t essentially a doctor, she had years to go in medical school to become an _actual_ doctor but she wasn’t about to correct him.

The boy glares over Bellamy’s shoulder to her, “She looks pretty young to be a doctor.”

“Well she is,” Bellamy replies as he glances back at Clarke, her eyes wide and frantic, “So if you kill her, we’re fucked.”

In return the boy rolls his eyes with a scoff as if to say Bellamy was being overdramatic, “We haven’t had any doctors around here in years.”

“Yeah because we can’t afford them,” he snaps back, “ _Leave_.”

He keeps Bellamy’s stare for a few moments before mumbling something under his breath and turning away.

He’s halfway out of sight when Bellamy calls, “Murphy!”

The boy – Murphy – pivots towards them again, “What?”

“You let the rest of them know not to touch her, got it?”

It’s a demand. Clarke digs her teeth down into her lower lip as she watches Murphy nod once before leaving. Bellamy then casts his attention back on her and if Clarke would put his expression into one word it would be: furious.

“What the hell, Clarke?” he bellows which only causes her to take a step back, “When I tell you to get out of here, you get out of here.”

“I’m sorry,” she responds with a quiet voice, “I just wanted to see.”

His forehead creases in confusion, “See what?”

“This,” her hands shoot up to gesture around her, “Where you live.”

He shakes his head, “Trust me, princess. You’re not interested in a place like this.”

Clarke’s arms cross against her chest, using her better judgment to ignore the nickname, “You can’t exactly tell me what I’m interested in.”

There was a flash of surprise in his eyes but it was quickly replaced with irritation, “Go home, Clarke.”

She huffs, “Fine,” she mutters before heading in the direction Murphy had gone, “But I _will_ be back tomorrow.”

With her back turned towards him she doesn’t get to see the curious expression he’s watching her with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented/kudo'd/bookmarked this fic! I'm very excited about it and I hope anyone who reads this will enjoy it too :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you’re kind of like…the good guys?”
> 
> Bellamy scoffs and shakes his head, “There are no good guys around here, princess.”
> 
> “I wish you’d stop calling me that,” she says causing him to look up with creased brows as if he hadn't realized he was calling her something other than her given name.
> 
> There’s a twitch at the upper corner of his lips, “My bad.”

Clarke pretty much all but flies to her car after she texts Raven that she’s leaving (not daring to search around for her) and as she’s sprinting to her vehicle, she gets a message in return asking her when she’d be back. When she’s behind her wheel, doors locked, she replies that she’ll be back tomorrow sometime in the late morning. She’s relieved when her friend tells her she’ll meet her in front beforehand. Driving back home, Clarke has so many things flooding her brain, her heart racing, blood pumping, while she thinks about bringing her father’s murderer into police custody. If she doesn’t end up killing whoever it is herself. It’s almost six in the afternoon when she’s pulls up into her driveway, her mother’s car still nowhere in sight. She exhales loudly, not too fond about staying alone in the house again.

There are too many memories in there, ones that bring a sinking feeling in her gut. She tries to ignore the pain as much as she can, her knuckles beginning to go white as she continues to grip the steering wheel after she’s parked. Clare bows her head so that her forehead is resting against the top of the wheel, her fingers beginning to get that familiar numbing feeling, and her throat tightens as she holds back her tears. Something her mother told her she shouldn’t do, Wells had also told her the same thing, if she wanted to cry then she should cry. But the thing is, she _doesn’t_ want to cry, she just wants the weight in her chest to miraculously disappear.

She shoves her car door open before hurrying towards her house. Once she’s inside, she notices all the lights are still turned off meaning that her mother hadn’t stopped home once. Dropping her keys onto the counter, she makes her way to the kitchen, her stomach whining to be filled.

She receives a phone call from Wells while she’s prepping dinner, asking her how she’s doing, and if she wanted him to come home. She rolled her eyes at that, it took her three days to convince him to go back to school. There was only about a month left and she knew he couldn’t afford missing finals. She also gets a text from her mother telling her that she probably won’t be home for a while but if she needed her that she could get home quickly. Of course, Clarke declines, telling her that she was fine and half asleep (not even close) and Abby wishes her a good night.

Clarke takes her mac and cheese upstairs to her bedroom, fully conscious that she still wasn’t able to eat at the table where she, her mother, and father would sit together. Once she’s up against the headboard, she turns her television set on and max’s the volume in hopes that it’ll distract her from her melancholy thoughts. It doesn’t.

-

True to her word, she arrives back at The Ark at eleven o’clock on the dot. She sees Raven waving her over towards the side of the building before she can even get out of the car. She drives closer, rolling down her window in the process before pulling to a stop in front of a garage.

Raven props her folded arms over the ledge, “Hey,” she greets her with a smile, “You should probably leave your car in here.”

She can note the underline of her tone. Clarke is well aware that her car was much different than the one’s people around here drove. She nods once before pulling into the space beside the ’06 Honda Civic before grabbing her medical kits and getting out.

“Is Bellamy here?” she asks as Raven pulls down the garage gate.

“He’s upstairs,” she answers as she moves towards the other vehicle, “I have to warn you though, he’s barley been seen today which probably means he’s in a bad mood.”

Clarke wonders what yesterday’s mood would be labeled as.

“Great,” she mutters.

“You’re going to have to get used to it.”

Clarke jumps when a man with blonde hair rolls himself from under the Honda. He has a grease stain over his right eyebrow and his shirt was clinging to his arms and chest with sweat.

“Clarke, this is Wick,” Raven rolls her eyes as she drops the rag she’s using to clean her hands onto his face causing the man to sputter something she couldn’t make out, “Wick, Clarke.”

Wick grins as he wipes at his forehead, “Pleasure to meet you, Clarke.”

“Yeah,” she responds awkwardly, “You too.”

“Do you want me to show you up?” Raven asks and Clarke shakes her head.

“No, it’s fine,” she waves dismissingly, “I’ll find him.”

The hallways are dim and she can hear a creak in the floorboards with every step she takes. She’s up on the second floor when she finally hears voices and she’s met with a few people scattered around what Clarke would presume as the den she’d seen yesterday. A pretty brunette is taking up the entire couch while a shaggy haired boy sat by her feet that hung off the side and she notices Murphy as well who’s trying to work the television set. She’s still hidden behind the wall and she curses herself for being so easily afraid. She was already in their territory, she had already asked for Bellamy’s help, there was really no turning back.

Clarke takes a deep breath before rounding the corner, grabbing the attention of the female first. She sits up immediately, her hair was pulled back into braids, giving Clarke a good view of her jaw locking. Her movement causes the other two boy’s to turn their heads to her and Murphy exhales irritably and places his hand out in front of the girl before she could fully stand.

“Chill, Octavia,” he says, “This is the doctor Bellamy got.”

 Octavia narrows her piercing green eyes, “Bullshit. Bellamy would never hire a _doctor_.”

“He’s not paying her,” Murphy stands and Clarke is a few feet away but she still feels the need to take a step back, “He said she wants the practice and he agreed.”

She takes a moment to regard his lie before nodding her head and introducing herself, “I’m Clarke.”

“Jasper,” the other boy pipes up, a goofy grin on his face as he twirls a blunt between his fingers, “What’s up, doc?”

Clarke can’t help but crack a grin at his terrible impersonation of Buggs Bunny but when she notices Octavia’s intense scrutiny, she hooks her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Is Bellamy up here?” She asks.

“Down the hall,” Jasper answers, pointing in the opposite direction. Clarke’s never been more grateful for a person’s presence before.

She thanks him before turning on her heel and walking off. She stops in front of the room that was her new ‘work place’ and budged the door open. She sets her kits down onto the table before her attention is on the graphitized walls. It’s all done with red spray paint, she makes out the words ‘The Ark’ and even a couple of names. There’s also a lot of use of profanity.

“I’ve been meaning to paint over that.”

The deep voice startles her and she whips her head around to see Bellamy leaning against the door sill, staring at the wall.

She looks at him for another second before she asks, “Why?”

Clarke doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker to one of the signatures. Atom.

Then he snorts – but the amusement is lacking in the sound, “Well for one thing, it looks horrible.”

She purses her lips, biting back a smile, “Never would have pinned you as someone who cared about appearance.”

He glances at her for the first time since the conversation began.

“Come with me.”

He doesn’t wait for her reply as he leaves her line of vision. Stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, she follows him back out into the hall and towards a new room. It’s similar to the previous one they were standing in, the same size, windowless and all but this room had a small bed pushed up against the wall. The sheets piled at the edge of it and there was a table in the far corner too, it looked like the ones that her father would bring out the backyard whenever they’d have BBQ’s, all in all, it was a simple…bedroom.

“And why did you bring me in here?” she asks with a bit of hesitance, holding back on biting her thumbnail which she did often when she felt anxious.

Bellamy rolls his eyes, “Relax, princess, I’m not going to try anything.”

“I know that,” she replies with equal annoyance, “Still doesn’t answer my question. We couldn’t talk in the other room?”

“Nobody comes in here,” he tells her, “No interruptions.”

She nods after a beat, understanding, “Okay. What’s going on?”

“There are things you should know about them,” he says and takes a seat on one of the plastic chairs at the table. She knows he’s talking about The Reapers.

She swallows her fear as she sits opposite him, “What kind of things?”

Bellamy wears a grave expression (not at all new for her) but it still makes her stomach twist in anxiousness as she doesn’t back down from his gaze. He’s the first to look away, diverting his eyes to the table before his hand, which curled into a tight fist, rested on his knee.

“Most of them were apart of us,” he’s begins, still not looking to her as he speaks, “Atom…he was – well I thought he was – one of my good friends years back, when Kane was the leader of The Ark. It was different then.”

He pauses to look up and she takes that time to realize she’s holding her breath.

“Things weren’t good, Kane wanted to put an end to The Ark all together,” she notices the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, “We knew even before he said that our turf was no longer ours. That he was giving it up…I think he wanted something better for us.”

Bellamy’s gaze lingers on hers for a few seconds before he continues, “Not that he got the chance to say so. He was killed the night after his announcement. Nobody fessed up at the time.”

Clarke feels a slight pang in her chest as she mutters an, “I’m sorry.”

If he hears her, he doesn’t acknowledge her condolences, “After…I found out that he put my name on the lease next to his and almost instantly everything was turned on me,” he explains, “I was their new leader.”

“I actually believed that maybe we wouldn’t have to be known as a gang anymore,” Bellamy says before he sneers to himself, “I thought this place could just be ours to actually _live_ in and be safe but some people didn’t want that.”

Clarke glances down at the table between them as he continues.

“There were people who didn’t want me as leader,” he tells her, “People who disagreed with how I wanted to run things.”

“You wanted to keep the peace,” it’s not a question but when she lifts her head to meet his eyes, he nods once.

“So Atom and a few others separated from us,” he says, “They created their own gang and now they want The Ark.”

Clarke shakes her head, “I don’t understand. Why do they want to be _here_?”

“Because this is the only place the cops can’t touch, since it’s under Kane’s name and now mine,” he explains, “It’s about territory.”

“Territory,” Clarke repeats in a low murmur.

It gets quiet again and she figures it’s the end of the conversation but Bellamy clears his throat which causes her to divert her attention towards him again.

“The Reapers are after the wealthy,” his puts it simply, “At first it was just theft. You know, steal what they can get and then keep it for themselves but now it’s progressed to much more.”

She feels herself tensing, her teeth gritting.

“So you’re saying my father was a target,” she states, her voice oddly composed, “That they wanted him dead.”

Bellamy is staring at her, his face blank, “I don’t think they wanted _him_ dead personally. They just…”

“Hate the privileged.” She concludes and when she chances his stare, he arches an eyebrow as if to say: _pretty_ _much_.

There’s another heavy pause. The air feels thick around her and she wills herself to remain calm.

“So you’re kind of like…the good guys?”

Bellamy scoffs and shakes his head, “There are no good guys around here, princess.”

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” she says causing him to look up with creased brows as if he hadn’t realized he was calling her something other than her given name.

There’s a twitch at the upper corner of his lips, “My bad.”

She peers at him through her lashes, “But you aren’t _cruel_ ,” she adds, “It’s not like you’ve killed someone.”

His eyes darken, “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t,” he replies, “If I had to protect my people, I would.”

Clarke doesn’t know Bellamy well enough to make the accusation that he’s bluffing, she doesn’t doubt that he’d do anything to keep his people from harm’s way but if he was truly cruel, he would have gone along with The Reapers plans instead of his own and perhaps he’s a bad guy in his head but he’s not in Clarke’s.

“I know this is probably a lot to take in but I thought you should know even –,”

“Thank you,” she intrudes before he could finish.

He looks at her again before he bobs his head, “Sure.”

They stay silent for a while, Clarke trying digest the new information. She doesn’t even realize Bellamy had stood and she’s staring blankly at the wall until she feels a hand on her shoulder. She almost jumps at the contact. She cranes her neck up to look up at him, his eyebrows are furrowed and he almost looks…concerned.

“You going to be okay, Clarke?”

Her lips are parted in slight disbelief and all she manages to whisper is, “You called me Clarke.”

He had referred to her as Clarke twice before but at the time she was pretty sure he was halfway debating on cutting off their deal or maybe just cutting off her head.

He almost smiles, just a quick upper curl at the crook of his lips, “You’re going to be fine.”

She turns in her seat and he lifts his hand and stands by her knees, “Why are you so sure about that?”

“Because you’re strong.”

Clarke quirks an eyebrow, confusion and surprise etched clearly across her features, “You don’t even know me.”

He shrugs a shoulder, “It takes guts to do what you’re doing, kid.”

Her nose wrinkles as he begins to walk away, towards the door, “That’s worst then princess.”

Bellamy pauses with his hand on the knob and she can almost feel him smirking, “You can stay,” he glances over his shoulder, “I mean you probably don’t want to – we’re just going to end up hanging around in the lair.”

Clarke raises from her position, “The lair?”

He doesn’t answer her but there’s an obvious challenging glint in his eyes as he pulls open the door and walks out. She knows what he’s doing. He wants to see if she’ll follow him or not. Not one to back down from a challenge, she’s quickly exits his bedroom and almost shrieks when she realizes that he’s standing right outside the door.

Pressing a hand over her heart, her eyes narrow when she takes in his smug face, “I could be leaving.”

He gives her a look of disbelief, “Princess –,”

Clarke points a finger at him, “I thought you said you’d stop calling me that.”

“No, you said you’d wish I stopped,” he says, as self-assured as ever, “I never agreed to anything.”

She rolls her eyes, mumbling, “You’re annoying.”

“And yet you’re still not leaving.”

She doesn’t back down from his scrutiny, he flashes her a quick grin after a few moments of silence, “How’d you know I’d follow you?” She finds herself asking after he turns and makes his way down the corridor.

She sees him shrug a shoulder before replying, “It’s what I would have done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a big thank you to those who are reading this! Your comments mean everything to me (along with the bookmarks and kudos) :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His chin rests on his chest, and a deep, low chuckle escapes his lips. The sound makes her body buzz unexpectedly. 
> 
> “Do you tend to call people out on their shit?” he asks, looking over at her.
> 
> She shrugs in response, “It’s been known to happen.”
> 
> Keeping his eyes trained on her, he speaks again after a couple seconds of silence, “You’re not what I expected.”

The lair turns out to be in the basement and it isn’t exactly how she pictured it. First of all, in her mind she figured it’d be dark. It wasn’t. Instead there were more lights down there then there were in the rest of the building. On one side of the staircase, the floors were made of white and blue tiles where the other side was carpeted, velvet red. The carpeted side had one of those punching bags she hadn’t seen in awhile hanging from the ceiling and there was an outline of a square done in chalk on the floor along with an elliptical. She assumes that would be where the rest of them would workout. Bellamy was walking over to the tiled side when she landed on the last step, peering around interestingly. 

“Doc!” She hears Jasper yells out. This time he’s next to a gangly Asian boy who raises his head to look over at her.

Clarke hesitantly moves off the staircase and walks towards the only other recognizable face.

“Jasper, you can call me Clarke,” she tells him before diverting her eyes from him to the new guy, “So can you.”

The boy cracks a small smile, “I’m Monty.”

She vaguely remembers that name – when she first got introduced to Bellamy and he ordered Raven inside to help him with some sort of surveillance issue.

“It’s nice to meet you, Monty,” she greets him properly and he slides his hand into her outstretched one and timidly shakes it.

“You too, Clarke,” he glances at Jasper, “So I’m guessing you’re a doctor?”

Before Clarke can confirm, Jasper is already cutting in, “Have you ever stitched up someone with like a really gruesome wound?” _No_ , Clarke thinks but she’s not able to voice that fact because he’s already continuing, “God that would be sick! Could you imagine all the blood – could you _imagine_ having your hand so far in somebody’s body, you were practically elbows deep?”

She notices the way Monty’s face twists up in disgust at the thought and she’s shaking her head slightly, biting back a smile. Over their shoulders she can see Bellamy watching her, he doesn’t look away when she catches his eye and she feels her heart hammering in her chest. His gaze is heavy, making her feel oddly exposed. She can barely comprehend what Jasper is rambling on about now.

She looks away, she hates that she’s the first to back down but her knees were starting to feel weak and she wasn’t sure how she’d live down collapsing in front of him. From the other side of the wall she’s close to, she can make out muffled voices. When she hears a hiss of ‘damn it Wick’ which was followed by an exclaimed, ‘don’t touch her car’, she realizes one of them belonged to Raven which meant the garage was attached to the basement. Clarke’s too busy trying to listen in for Wick’s response, undoubtedly about her car, she doesn’t realize Monty and Jasper had walked away and Bellamy was currently standing next to her.

“Enjoying yourself?”

She ignores the laughter laced in his tone, “Are they always fighting?”

“You’re going to have to get used to it.”

Clarke eyes snap up to meet his, mildly amused that he unknowingly echoed the words Wick had spoken to her this morning about him. It’s quiet for a few seconds before she speaks up again.

“So this is the lair, huh?”

He looks down at her, “Not to your expectations, princess?”

There’s another television set, this one larger, hanging off the wall. She can pretty much picture Monty setting it up perfectly, maybe Jasper shoving the couches opposite it. A radio is perched on a table set, Clarke almost smiles when she recognizes it as Raven’s from all those years ago. There’s a lot of room, just to hang out, just to _be_. She feels like it’s almost easier to breathe down here.

“Exceeds it,” she answers honestly and she doesn’t miss the glint of surprise in his eyes. She doesn’t comment on it though, “So what do you guys do down here?”

That elicits a smirk from him, “Whatever the hell we want.”

It almost sounds nice. She can see the devil in him – free and powerful. She feels only slightly silly to envy that about him. She pulls her gaze away from Bellamy when she hears the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs. She looks over her shoulder to see the girl – Octavia – shadowed by Murphy and a tall, dark man making their way down to the lair. Octavia’s green eyes pierce into hers as she jumps down from the third to last step, landing her feet with a solid thud on the ground.

The brunette’s attention averts to Bellamy who’s staring at her with a locked jaw. Clarke picks up on the tension as she looks between the two of them. She feels the need to take a step back but she also couldn’t look away. Automatically Clarke assumes that they’re a thing. Were “things” allowed in this kind of… _group_? She can no longer think of them as a gang. She associates gangs with evil and violence and it felt wrong to put Bellamy and Raven into that category. Even with the few words she exchanged between Monty and Jasper, she already had a good feeling about them as well.

“Where the hell were you last night?” Bellamy’s harsh voice demands.

Octavia narrows her eyes at him, “None of your business.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” he scoffs and Clarke glances around to see if anyone else is listening into their growing argument but they were all oblivious, doing their own thing, probably used to this kind of tirade.

“It _isn’t_ ,” she rebukes, her arms crossing over her chest.

Their silent staring match continues and Clarke’s pretty sure she’s no longer existent to the two of them. With one last look at both of them she finally does retreat, slowly. She spots Monty and the new stranger sitting on the couch as Jasper hooks up what looks to be a Playstation. She’s once again dazed at how civil and normal this was. Their home.

“Yo, Doc, come join us,” Jasper calls out to her before giving her a sheepish smile, “Sorry, _Clarke_ , come join us.”

She ducks her head with a quiet laugh before making her way over to them. Bellamy and Octavia are speaking again but they’re closer together and talking in too soft of a tone to actually comprehend anything.

“You can have my seat,” Monty says as he stands and Clarke smiles.

“What a gentleman,” she responds before dropping onto the plush cushion. Mystery man had a curious eyebrow quirked beside her, “I’m Clarke.”

“So I’ve heard,” he nods, “I’m Miller.”

She returns the gesture as the game’s theme song starts to play in the background, wondering idly if there was more of them she hasn’t met yet, “Nice to meet you.”

He briefly mutters the same as Jasper hands over the control and quickly he’s fully immersed in the game. Clarke watches the screen, her eyes squinting as she observed the point of the game. Stealing guns and killing each other didn’t seem that entertaining but with the way Jasper and Miller nudged each other or whined or laughed, it must have been.

“I call winner,” Monty pipes in.

Both boys respond in harmony, “Which will be me.”

Clarke laughs again as she relaxes against the edge of the sofa. A few minutes later, Miller was ready to attack, her eyes are glued to the television when there was a loud banging sound coming from the side. She jumps in her seat, noticing Bellamy pulling his hand back from the wall he just slammed it against.

“You’re so fucking unbelievable, O!” Bellamy yells and to Clarke’s surprise the girl doesn’t even flinch.

This time though, the outburst causes all the heads to turn, including Murphy’s who’s laying on the floor on the opposite side as the rest of them.

“Oh, _I’m_ unbelievable?” she replies, incredulous, “ _You’re_ overreacting!”

Experiencing Bellamy’s anger when it’s not directed at her is still pretty terrifying. He looks ready to smash something or _someone_.  Half of her wants to put a stop to it, whatever they’re fighting about but she knows it’s not her place so she settles on watching them with everyone else.

“No, you don’t know overreacting,” he seethes, “You’ll stop before I get to that point.”

Octavia raises her chin, “I’m not going to stop.”

He juts out his pointer finger at her, “I’m not asking you, Octavia, I’m telling you.”

She takes a step forward, a brave step forward in Clarke’s mind, “And I’m telling _you_ , lay off.”

And with that, she turns away on her heel. Parading up the steps she had just flew down minutes ago. The room isn’t exactly silent, the television is still blaring its music, but the tension feels thick in the air. Clarke looks away from a still, very livid looking Bellamy to see both Jasper and Miller sneaking peeks over at him as they continue to play the game. Monty is staring down at the ground and Murphy is shaking his head but his eyes are closed and his hands are behind his head.

When her attention is back on Bellamy, he was pivoted away from her, staring up the staircase. His fists are clenched at his sides and his shoulders are stiff. Ignoring her better judgment she rises out of her seat and makes her way towards him.

She hears Jasper whisper, “What the hell is she doing?”

But it doesn’t halt her movements.

“What was that all about?” she asks as she comes to a stop beside him. Their arms almost touching.

Bellamy snaps his head towards her, “None of your business, that’s what.”

She purses her lips with a nod, averting her eyes away from his, “Okay,” she says calmly, “I just thought I’d ask before you punched someone.”

Clarke can actually hear the amusement in his voice after a pause, “And you were brave enough to come speak to me first?”

She looks up at him, feeling oddly relieved that she was able to cause him to relax even if it was just faintly, “Well I thought better me than your girlfriend. She’ll just end up more pissed.”

His eyebrows furrow before his shoulders slump and then he’s _laughing_. Actually laughing. Clarke is momentarily speechless and even slightly worried about his mood swings. She eyes him with confusion as he draws in a ragged breath, hand pressed to his stomach.

“Oh God,” he says, somewhat breathless as he winds down from his high, “That was good.”

“Now I’m officially scared of you.”

He lifts his head, dark curls falling into his eyes and her thumb twitches to push them away.

“Octavia isn’t my girlfriend,” he informs her, leveling her with another one of his signature stares, “She’s my sister.”

Clarke’s lips shape an ‘O’ as realization dawns on her. She feels her neck redden from embarrassment as Bellamy continues to smirk. Now that she thought about it, she did see the similarities, dark hair, sharp eyes, and the beauty that was begrudging. To be fair they had more differences. Bellamy had freckles dusting his face where Octavia didn’t. The color of Octavia’s eyes were green where Bellamy’s were brown. She was petite and he was practically a giant. So she mistook his protectiveness as jealousy — not her fault.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, grin intact, “Girlfriends aren’t my type.”

She rolls her eyes, “How cliché of you.”

His chin rests on his chest, and a deep, low chuckle escapes his lips. The sound makes her body buzz unexpectedly.

“Do you tend to call people out on their shit?” he asks, looking over at her.

She shrugs in response, “It’s been known to happen.”

Keeping his eyes trained on her, he speaks again after a couple seconds of silence, “You’re not what I expected.”

This gains her attention, the tips of her ears burning as she turns towards him fully, “What were you expecting?”

His tongue darts out and licks at his bottom lip, “Just know,” he steps closer, his arm brushing her shoulder as he leans forward so that his mouth was near her ear, “You exceeded them.”

Her eyes widen with his warm breath against her neck before he strides away. Jogging up the stairs after a nod towards the boys on the couch. Clarke was stunned for a good few seconds before she marched towards the end of the staircase and yelled up the steps, “What does that even mean!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update and it was a short chapter. I have little bits of this story already written/planned out but this wasn’t at all. But at least this had a lot of Bellarke, right?! I just hope it’s not moving too fast – maybe even too slow? I feel like I have a problem with pacing.
> 
> Also in the last chapter (if anyone remembered) I had written that Murphy refers to Bellamy as Octavia’s brother but I went back and edited that because I had written out all this and liked it because now you know the attraction is there because really when you look like them how could you not be at least physically attracted?
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Impressed?” she echoes, her voice laced with doubt. 
> 
> “You put up a hell of a fight, princess,” and now the amusement is replaced with respect. She can’t help but smile.
> 
> “Give me a few more lessons and I’ll have you on your back again.”
> 
> Her eyes widen when she realizes her words and a devilish smirk appears on his lips, “Well —,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this took so long. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Clarke spent another hour or two down in the lair, alternating controls with the rest of the guys. Everyone other than Murphy went easy on her but she still ended up being brutally crushed in every round. Sometimes she’d forget how these people were looked at as criminals. How _she_ had thought of them as criminals. Then she’d glance at Jasper’s goofy grin, Miller and Murphy’s pouts when they lost, or Monty’s triumph fist pump into the air and she felt her heart warm. She was never involved in such a tight knit group. She always had Wells but she never really grew attached to anyone else as a friend.

On her way home she decides to stop into the now familiar coffee shop that was in between her home and The Ark. She welcomes the full blast of AC as soon as she steps inside and joined the short line. Once she places her order, she heads to the back to pick it up where a slight crowd of people were waiting for their own drinks.

“Clarke!” A voice rang out and immediately she pushes through the people, muttering her apologies with the cramped space before she’s face to face with the guy holding her cup.

She thanks him before turning away and abruptly colliding with a nearby person. She jolts back when the cover of her coffee pops off and the liquid splashes against her shirt along with the stranger who seems startled.

“Sorry!” they both shout in unison before looking up from their clothes to each other.

She sees the corner of his lips quirk up, “I’m Finn.”

“Clarke,” she returns, “And I don’t know why you’re apologizing. _I’m_ the one who ran into _you_.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” he responds and she grimaces. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Sorry, bad joke.”

“Sort of,” she hums in agreement as she grabs a few napkins off the counter to dab at her shirt.

“Let me buy you another,” he offers, running a hand through his long brown locks sheepishly.

She eyes him, hesitant, before she shakes her head. She knows she doesn’t really have time for friends – she figures with the boyish grin he’s giving her, he has a bit more intended than friendship – but she doesn’t really want to head back to her empty house just yet.

“I can’t make you pay for something that was my fault,” she tells him, “But you’re more than welcome to keep me company.”

“I was the one standing in your way,” before she can open her mouth to further refuse, he’s already continuing, “And I promise there’s more about me than shitty come on lines.”

Clarke raises an amused eyebrow, “So that was a come on.”

There’s a hint of pink on his cheeks suddenly and Clarke almost finds it charming. _Almost_. He opts to ignore her words and instead asks her what she was drinking.

Clarke finds a booth in the corner and scrolls through her phone in a way to pass time. She texts her mom to check in and then Wells to ask about his classes and she then briefly lets her mind wander towards The Ark again. She thinks about Bellamy’s words as much as she wished she wouldn’t. _You’re not what I expected_ , echoed in the back of her head but she didn’t have that much to mull in her thoughts before someone was standing at the edge of the table.

“Hey,” Finn greets, both coffees in his hands. He nods towards the opposite side she’s currently sitting in, “May I?”

“Be my guest,” she says as she slips her phone into her pocket.

He takes a seat before handing over her cup to which she thanks him for. There’s an uncomfortable pause, both of them silently sitting there sipping their beverages before he speaks again.

“So...” he begins and Clarke knows it’s lame to start a conversation like that but brushes it off since he seems pretty nervous, “You live around here?”

-

Clarke doesn’t go back to The Ark until four days later. Wells had made a surprise appearance over the weekend and her mother had taken one of her sick days to spend her time with her daughter. She calls Raven though every day to ask if her or Bellamy had heard anything about The Reapers whereabouts but she always got the same response: nothing. She was trying not to lose hope but the feeling was slowly diminishing with no progress.

It’s weird to her that she feels somewhat at ease driving through the area that she once feared. Now though she knew that the place she was headed was filled with some pretty cool people.

 Raven is already stepped out on the road, smiling in her direction as she pulls to a stop.

“You know the drill, blondie,” she grins and Clarke rolls her eyes at the nickname before pulling into her spot in the garage. This time it’s a late model of the Nissan Civic that Wick was currently working on.

To her surprise, she notices Bellamy propped up against the wall as well.

“Hey,” she says as she closes her car door behind her.

He nods his head in acknowledgment and before she can say anything more, Wick was at her side.

“You have a really nice car,” he comments as he circles around it, hands wiping at the already dirtied dish rag.

She looks back at it, a sad smile making its way onto her lips, “My dad picked it out.”

She doesn’t miss the way Raven’s head snaps up from her spot crouched down in front of the other vehicle. She can even see Bellamy observing her with raised eyebrows and arms crossed.

“Good taste,” Wick says as he pats the hood of the car, “Good man.”

Clarke swallows the lump in her throat, “Very true.”

Wick opens his mouth to respond but before any words can form, Bellamy is already speaking, “It’s nice of you to finally grace us with your presence.”

Clarke looks up from her car with narrowed eyes, “I’ve been busy.”

He grunts something incoherent and she can see Raven roll her eyes. Bellamy pushes himself off the wall and starts to make his way into the building, glancing back at her with an eyebrow raise as if to say: _you coming?_ She almost wants to ignore the look altogether but he was the one helping her out --- she could endure a little hostility. Even if she thought they were past that.

With a soft huff, she follows him, he’s silent through the whole trek until they reach the room that holds all her supplies – _her_ room, she supposes. She watches as he bends down to pull out a duffle bag from under the table. The quiet was getting a little too much for Clarke as he searched for whatever he was looking for in the bag.

“Can I ask why you’re being so broody?”

He stills his movements but doesn’t even glance at her as he responds, monotone, “There’s been another murder.”

Her eyes widen at the new information, her heart racing uncontrollably, “What? When?”

“Last night,” he answers before shoving the bag down onto the floor, “Fuck.”

“What the hell are you looking for?” Clarke questions as he runs a hand through his tousled curls.

He stands, “Octavia’s phone,” he tells her before moving towards the door and into the hallway.

“And why would her phone be in there?” she asks as she trails behind him. He goes into another room, it’s similar to his own but there are painted blue butterflies against the usual white walls.

“She’s hiding it,” is his curt response as he throws over the duvet.

There’s a million questions roaming through her head at that moment: _Why would Octavia need to hide her cell? How did he know she was in fact hiding it? Why does he think that she doesn’t have it on her?_ But she doesn’t really process any of them. Instead she decides to ask the question that was weighing heavily down on her.

“Who was killed?”

This causes Bellamy to stop again. His head bent to search under the bed. “I believe her name was Cathy. Cathy Stewart — sixteen.”

Clarke gasps. She knew these people were cruel but this was just _extreme_. He straightens only slightly but still remains crouched to search around the covers on the floor.

“Poor girl probably didn’t know how to protect herself at all,” his voice is low and tired. She catches herself wondering how much a guy like him sleeps.

“How could you really protect yourself against them?”

Bellamy shakes his head, “You learn how to fight. They don’t commit these crimes in pacts, it’ll draw too much attention.”

She licks her lips, his hands move under the bed once more. This phone thing seemed really damn important but she wanted --- no _needed_ his attention. She had to know if they were closer to finding her father’s killer.

“Cops came up empty handed again?”

He nods once, “I checked the news. They have no comment.”

Clarke’s hands clench in frustration at her sides but she manages to keep her anger out of her voice, “And you would know how to protect yourself against them?”

He scoffs, as if it was the most ridiculous question she could have asked, “Of course.”

“Teach me then.”

Bellamy whips his head up with his eyebrows furrowing, “Teach you?”

“Teach me how to fight,” she says, “To protect myself.”

“Princess—,”

“What?” Clarke’s arms cross against her chest as her head tilts to the side, “Don’t tell me you’re not capable.”

He picks up on her challenging tone and he briefly wonders how she so easily crawled under his skin. He places his hands on his thighs before standing slowly. Clarke quirks an eyebrow as he steps closer.

“Fine, but I’m warning you now that I don’t go easy on beginners,” he tells her, “Follow me.”

Clarke suppresses her gulp, her heart thrashing wildly in her chest as he passes by her with the corner of his lips turned up in amusement. She leaves the room, hot on his heels as he directs her towards the staircase. He doesn’t slow his pace as he jogs down the steps and off to the side. She pauses on the last step and she sees him grab a mat from inside the closet. He glances up at her as he rolls it open and over the sketched square, raising an eyebrow as if to ask she was backing out.

She pulls herself together with a deep breath as she gathers her hair back with an elastic band. With her head lowered she can notice the way he slips off his shoes and then shoves them under the nearby table along with his jacket. When she raises her gaze, he’s in just a white tank top and dark washed jeans and she can see the tattoo on his upper arm. Luckily he’s still turned away, bending down to the mini fridge and seizing two waters, too occupied to see her tracing the lines of the ink. Simple swirls and streaks that surround his bicep _and it really just wasn’t fair_.

She was pretty sure she could see the outline of a sword behind the red and black ink but before she could observe it any closer, he was turning around and she was averting her eyes. Bellamy nods towards her feet where she’s still wearing her flip flops and she hurries to throw them off to the side.

“First thing you should know,” he says as he comes closer, his movement slow and she doesn’t know if was trying to seem threatening but she felt the anxiousness build within her, “The nose, neck, and eyes are what you should aim for if you’re close enough.”

Clarke bobs her head up and down once, filing away the information as he stands a few inches away from her. He keeps her stare, remaining silent. She opens her mouth to say something – ask what else she should know when he grabs her wrist and pulls her forward. With one swift movement, he has her back against his chest with her arm across her torso and his hold tightening slightly on her wrist.

“See how easy that was?” his voice was low and gruff against the back of her ear. She willed herself not to shiver in his arms. “Am I hurting you?”

She manages to shake her head and he releases her wrist and she immediately turns around, her chest brushing against his. He glances down at their now touching torsos before his head lifts to meet hers. Suddenly the air feels thicker around them, her body buzzing with anticipation because _sue her, okay, he’s attractive._

“You’re letting your guard down,” she tells him, her voice a little more breathless then she’d like to admit, “I could use that to my advantage.”

His stares into her eyes, “Please do.”

Clarke was pretty sure it was meant to be an innuendo of some sorts but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead she shoves him hard causing him to stagger backwards at the unexpected blow. Before he can fully catch his balance, she’s kicking her legs out to swipe under his legs. Taking the move Murphy used on her the first day she walked through The Ark. To her delight, Bellamy falls. His back hitting the matt with a hiss escaping his lips.

She grins down at him, her hands on her hips, “Maybe you should—,”

The words get lost in her throat when Bellamy’s legs wrap around her ankles and twists them so that she’s falling face first.

“ _Ow_!”

She wants to retaliate, roll over and land a solid punch to the gut to show that he barley discouraged her but she’s too winded and dizzy to even try. She _feels_ him looming over her, before she can actually see him. Her eyes fluttering open to see his smirking face.

“What was that you were trying to say before?”

She grits her teeth, squinting up at him, “I hate you.”

He jerks his chin up, “Come on.”

Clarke takes another few seconds before she slowly rises to her feet, still glaring at Bellamy.

“Keep your arms up,” he tells her and she positions her arms to guard her face, Bellamy steps forward and takes her hand into his. She watches his movements as he balls her hand into a fist, “Punch me.”

Her eyes widen, “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes as he steps back, “Punch me.”

Clarke keeps his gaze for a second before she shoots her arm outwards only for Bellamy to grab onto her fist. _The_ _hell_.

“Too slow, princess,” he grins and she scowls, dropping her hand, “Try again.”

He manages to catch her next three attempts as well. The need to scream was starting to overcome her but she couldn’t let her frustration out just yet. Instead when he asks her to try another time, she ignores his instruction and instead kicks out her foot so it hit against his knee.

He hisses in pain as she kicks him again, this time causing him to collapse onto the ground once more.

“The fuck Clarke,” he yells up at her, “You call that a punch?”

She shrugs innocently, “I was getting bored.”

His eyes narrow before he lets out a low growl and before she knows it, his foot lunges out and hits her ankle causing her to yelp. Bellamy leans up so that he can grab the back of her knee and she topples on top of him. Clarke looks down at him, their eyes meeting, and their breaths mingling. Their faces are close. _Too_ close. She can feel his heart beating madly with her body against his and she should move. She should really fucking move. But she doesn’t.

“Still bored?” he whispers, harsh and ragged and _God she was in trouble._

“You call that skill?” she rebukes with a quirk of her brow.

He returns the gesture and suddenly he’s rolling over, her back now against the matt and him hovering above her. Her hair is starting to stick to her forehead due to the sweat she was breaking and with every deep breath she takes, her chest rises and falls to touch his. When she looks up into his eyes again, they’re a shade darker.

The moment is broken though when he hurries to a standing position, “Again.”

-

“Not so bad,” Bellamy says as he jumps to his feet once more after a half hour of “training.”

“You knocked me down four times,” she points out, not even bothering to hide her bitterness.

He holds his hand out and she looks at it for a second before grabbing onto it. Bellamy hoists her back onto her feet effortlessly.

“It’s not about how many times you hit the mat,” he tells her as he turns away to grab his shoes, “It’s about how you get back up.”

Clarke purses her lips, registering his words, “I like that.”

She sees him smiling as he grabs the water bottle off the table, “Me too.”

She takes a few steps forward to grab her own beverage, she practically gulps half it down in a matter of seconds. When she lets out a satisfied ‘ah’ and licks her lips once she caps the bottle, she notices that he’s watching her. Something like amusement flashing in his dark eyes.

Clarke raises a questioning eyebrow, “What?”

Bellamy shakes his head and uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, “Nothing.”

She narrows her eyes as she leans against the edge of the table, “Liar.”

He stares at her for another moment, it’s unnerving, she can never tell what he’s thinking because he usually kept his face completely impassive when he did it. 

“Four times,” he says and she almost groans. _Of_ _course_ , she thinks, of course he’s announcing his delight in kicking her ass. Bellamy raises his hands up in front of him, “I’m not mocking you. I’m impressed.”

“Impressed?” she echoes, her voice laced with doubt.

“You put up a hell of a fight, princess,” and now the amusement is replaced with respect. She can’t help but smile.

“Give me a few more lessons and I’ll have you on _your_ back again.”

Her eyes widen when she realizes her words and a devilish smirk appears on his lips, “Well —,”

“On the matt!” she sputters.

That doesn’t deter him in the least, “I’ll bet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I stole (or rephrased) a quote from DareDevil, AKA a very great new show!)


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s watching her, something in his expression gives away his concern and she wants to find it sweet but right now her mind is telling her to run. Before she can do just that, he’s up onto his feet again.
> 
> “You don’t have to,” his voice is softer now, all irritation gone in his tone and gaze, “I was being a dick before.”
> 
> She lets out a laugh but it sounds watery and breathless, “You’re always being a dick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this took longer than expected to update! I should have the next one up much sooner since I already have things written out.
> 
> Enjoy!

Clarke never expected a time to come where she’d actually enjoy hanging out in The Ark. Especially since the first day she came by, Bellamy practically glowered at her the whole time and she was almost choked to death by Murphy. Now she finds herself alternating her time evenly with her mother, her phone calls with Wells, brief sparse coffee meet ups with Finn, and The Ark. It hasn’t been long since her father’s been murdered and for the first time since then she feels the weight in her chest slightly diminish.

Though sometimes it comes back, sharp, and quick when she remembers why she even contacted Raven in the first place.

It’s been over a week since her first meeting with Bellamy, after making their deal, she figured things would come a little easier to her. She’d find at least _one_ person that was a part of The Reapers which would lead to discovering the others which would ultimately end up with her final result: finding her father’s killer. She doesn’t know what would happen after that. Would she be able to sleep more easily? Would the nightmares stop? Will the ache in her entire body slowly fade?

Then she thinks about: would she even end up finding Jake’s murderer? Or was this just a goal that will never be accomplished? She’s scared for that. She’s scared because she knows she’ll never quit. She’ll be old and gray and still searching for him. For her. For whoever’s responsible.

Clarke comes to a stop in front of the building, her eyes feeling suddenly heavy as she breathes in a few deep breaths. She almost thinks about turning around, heading back home, and crawling into bed where she can call her mom and ask her to come back early and stay with her but she doesn’t. Instead she pulls herself out of her daze and finally notices that the garage gates were both pulled down. She had called Raven a few times before but she got no answer which was why she decided to drop by. See if today was the day they made some progress.

She pulls the keys from the ignition and decides to leave her car on the street – she has other things to worry about other than her car getting stolen. She raises her fists to bang against the garage doors.

“Raven!” she shouts through the metal, “It’s Clarke!”

With no response, she huffs under her breath and spins around to move towards the back entrance Bellamy had taken her to the first day she came to The Ark. How different she felt then, nervous and timid, now she almost feels like she’s with them.

Bellamy’s voice echoes in the back of her mind, _you are not a part of us,_ as if to remind her that she’s really not.

She shakes the thought from her head as she raps against the rickety door, making her knocks louder than intentional.

It’s only eight seconds later when the door swings open to show a very irritated and disheveled looking Bellamy standing there. To her surprise, his shirt is off, and he’s wearing sweatpants that ride low on his hips. If it were a rom-com, this would be the part where Clarke’s mouth would hang open and their eyes would meet and there’d be a sparkle in Bellamy’s own eyes and he’d flush which would cue the ‘aw’s’ from the audience.

But it’s not a rom-com and even though she had to admit he had an impressive physique, she was not about to drool over Bellamy Blake. Instead she just pushes her way inside, eliciting a low growl from him.

“Do you think you own the place now?” he asks, annoyance in his tone as he closes the door behind her.

She purses her lips as she turns back to him, “Not yet.”

“Funny,” he deadpans, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I don’t know, thought we could hang out, play some _Clue_ , maybe go to the movies?” she cocks her head to the side, “Why the hell do you think I’m here?”

Bellamy mumbles something about her being a pain in his ass as he moves towards the stairs.

“Nobody’s here,” he informs her as she trails behind him into the lair.

Her eyebrows furrow, “Where are they?”

“The hell should I know,” he answers, “I’m not their keeper.”

She rolls her eyes, his attitude was still something she was trying to get used to. She watches as he finds his shirt that was thrown over the edge of the couch and pulls it over him.

“I wanted to know if you found anything.”

Bellamy lands onto the sofa, the cushions sinking under his weight, “I wish I had better news,” he turns his head to her, “I really do.”

Clarke only nods, once, businesslike, “Okay then.”

Bellamy continues to stare as she fidgets in place, standing only a few feet away, her hand coming up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear and that’s when she notices that it’s shaking. She pulls both her hands into fists, willing herself to stop, hoping she doesn’t end up crying. She saves that for when she’s alone.

“I’m – uh going to go then.”

He’s watching her, something in his expression gives away his concern and she wants to find it sweet but right now her mind is telling her to run. Before she can do just that, he’s up onto his feet again.

“You don’t have to,” his voice is softer now, all irritation gone in his tone and gaze, “I was being a dick before.”

She lets out a laugh but it sounds watery and breathless, “You’re always being a dick.”

He doesn’t comment on the fact that she’s about to break, probably into a million pieces, instead he laughs too, much stronger than hers, “That’s true.”

“What do we do then?” she asks, “You don’t by any chance have _Clue_ do you?”

“I don’t,” he says before he tilts his head towards the TV, the remote controls laying on top, “I don’t think Jasper will mind if we play.”

Clarke thinks he will, most likely since she sucks at video games and she’s pretty sure she’ll mess up whatever score he has – if there even is a score taken place, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead she just takes a seat beside Bellamy on the couch as he turns on the television set and hands over one of the controls.

\---

She glances at his profile when he’s in the middle of aiming his gun at the zombie on the screen. Her mouth finding words before her mind has time to catch up.

“Can I ask you something?”

Bellamy pauses the game, head tipping in her direction, “Sure.”

“Is this your plan?” she looks around the basement, “Are you all just going to live like this forever?”

She regrets her decision to ask as soon as she sees the way his shoulders slump forward, “You don’t really _plan_ this.”

Clarke digs her teeth down into her lower lip, silently debating with herself if she should carry on the conversation, after a second or two, she’s made her choice, “So is that a no?”

He exhales through his nose, “It’s a…I don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning every one apart of The Ark can do better,” his voice is soft, almost as if he’s not sure why he’s even saying these words in the first place, “Miller wanted to be a cop. That’s what his dad was before he was killed on the job –,” Clarke opens her mouth to say something but he’s quick to add, “It was a gang member, yes.”

Clarke’s eyes shut. The rage and sadness she felt for her own father’s death lays heavy on her once again. She’d never thought she’d share something so precise to her own story with someone else’s.

“They’re not a gang anymore. At least not here,” Bellamy shook his head, “It took us a long time to find out who was responsible though.”

Her eyes reopen with that, “But you did find them?”

His gaze meets hers, the look he’s giving her is hopeful, “We found them.”

She wants to ask what happened afterwards but instead she just bobs her head up and down, “Keep going.”

“Jasper and Monty well...,” there’s a slight up curve of Bellamy’s lips at the sound of the boy’s names, Clarke hardly realizes she’s mimicking his smile, “They were a package deal. Octavia actually brought them in. Didn’t have homes of their own,” he rolls his eyes, “We’re known as one of the most powerful gangs in Arizona but really it’s like we’re a damn orphanage.”

Clarke snorts which turns into a peal of laughter. Before long she can actually feel her eyes brimming with tears at how hard she was suddenly laughing and soon enough Bellamy is joining in. His low chuckling mixing in with her jolts of giggles and hiccups. She hadn’t laughed like this in weeks.

“Can’t believe I used to think of you guys as powerful and dangerous,” she teases, “You’re all a bunch of softies. Especially you — the _leader_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand dismissively, “The point is. They all have potential to go out there and be great but I don’t know if they’ll get that opportunity.”

She sobers at the sound of disappointment laced in his tone.

“I think they will,” she says, “I think _all_ of you will.”

“Everyone knows my name around here, Clarke. They know what I am, I’ve been a part of The Ark since I was a kid,” he shakes his head, “It’s too late for me.”

Hearing Bellamy – the man who she saw as all cocky and supreme, the man who was not even thirty yet, the man who obviously cares for his people more than he does himself – sound so defeated made her chest tighten.

“It’s not,” her voice is clear and bold, her hand reaches out to touch his upper arm which causes his head to lift from it’s previous ducking position, “Bellamy, I believe in you.”

His eyes soften, there’s a glint of surprise in them as well before he speaks, “You don’t know me.”

“Bullshit,” she’s had enough of his ‘I’m less than I seem’ act. The way he was obviously not a fan of letting others get close to him, “You can be something other than this,” she gestures around the room, “If you wanted to.”

He’s silent for a while – too long in her opinion – and she’s trying to gauge his expression but he gives nothing away. After what feels like forever, he sets his controller down next to him.

“Yeah,” his voice is so quiet, she barley even hears him, “Maybe.”

And with that, his hands go to his knees as he pushes himself off the couch. Clarke watches him with wide eyes filled with curiosity. 

“Where are you going?”

He slides his phone out from the pocket of his sweatpants, “I need to call Octavia.”

Octavia – she hasn’t seen her in a while. Only a few glimpses here and there over the past few days.

“Is she okay?” she asks as she ditches her own spot on the sofa.

The question seems to take him by surprise, looking up from the screen he was scrolling on, “She better be.”

He puts the phone to his ear and then lets out an aggravated huff after a few seconds. Voicemail, she assumes.

“Does this have to do with whatever you two were yelling about a week ago?”

Bellamy’s gaze deters from his phone to her but he doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, I remember that screaming match,” Clarke tells him with a pointed look, “What was that about?”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, “You’re damn nosey, you know that?”

She merely shrugs, “Of course.”

He sighs, probably expecting that answer, before he speaks again, “She’s seeing someone I don’t want her to be seeing.”

“That’s vague,” she comments, “And also very big brother-ish.”

“Big brother-ish?”

She nods once, “Yeah. The overbearing protective big brother. You’re a cliché.”

He makes a disproving grunting sound, “I am not a cliché.”

Clarke hums her disagreement before asking, “So who is she seeing?”

Bellamy in return just glares at her, “You don’t need to know everything.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply as he walks away but Clarke, never one to be fazed, doesn’t take the hint to back off instead she just follows him up the steps. The Ark unusually quiet with everyone out doing their own thing.

“I don’t,” she agrees, “But you’ve piqued my interest, Bellamy Blake.”

She hears him snort and she can practically picture the eye rolling he’s doing with his back to her as he endures his walk down the hallway.

“It’s what I do.”

It’s now her turn to feel the annoyance, scoffing at his choice of words. “Just tell me.”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

They’re passing ‘her’ room when she says, “I thought we were friends here. Friends tell each other these kind of things.”

Suddenly, Bellamy comes to an abrupt halt, almost causing Clarke to run into him. Her eyebrows draw in when he turns to her, a curious expression across his face.

“What?” she finally asks, never finding delight in being under his speculating gaze.

“You think we’re friends?”

_Shit_ , she mentally chastises herself, why the hell would she say that?

“I was just kidding,” she finally declares after a moment or two of silence.

He quirks a brow at her, disbelieving, “You think we’re friends.” This time it comes out more of a statement.

“We’re….something,” she mutters lamely. Her eyes adverting from his to the floor. He never failed to make her feel young and naïve.

That is until it’s quiet again and he practically whispers, “We certainly are.”

There’s something in his voice, so low, so honest, so _un_ -Bellamy that makes her head snap up to see the amusement gone from his eyes and instead something else glooming there. They stare at each other for what feels like hours but in reality was barely a few seconds. Clarke was way too anxious to ask him to elaborate.

The moment is broken with the sound of hast movement and loud, distress filled voices, both Bellamy and Clarke turn towards the mayhem. She only hears for a second before she actually see’s anything —  _anyone_. Then she notices a blur of green material and then it registers that Miller is practically flying towards them.

“Bellamy,” Miller breathes and there was no mistaking the dread in his tone that matches the fear in his eyes, “It’s Octavia.”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that this took so long to update! I went away for a few weeks on vacation and wanted to update before I left but never got the time and now that I'm back, I still don't really have the time. I have barley any time to myself and with the little that I do, I try to write.
> 
> So, thank you for sticking with this story if you're reading this!

It’s as if time suddenly stops altogether. She can’t even register the pounding in her ears as Bellamy’s face drains of color. Suddenly Jasper and Monty are stampeding down the hall and she notices Octavia’s – very limp – body being carried by Raven. Bellamy rushes over, even in his midst of worry he’s quick, and takes his sister from her arms. Raven’s eyes are wide and her mouth opens and closes a few times before she finally just keeps it shut. Bellamy stares down at Octavia for half a second, his concern radiating off him in waves, before he barks out his orders.

“Follow me,” Clarke’s pretty sure he was directing the words towards her because he’s moving to her ‘work room’ but everyone hurriedly shadows his lead.

“What happened?” he’s still looking at Octavia but he aims the question towards the rest of them.

Miller is the one to respond, “It has to be The Reapers. She was so close to the Ark – they just – they shot.”

Clarke stills, _The Reapers are here. They’re outside the Ark._

Bellamy sets Octavia down, gently, onto the tin colored table. His face is still white and his hands are now in fists. Clarke is still just standing there dumbly as Raven pushes her way through.

“She has a pulse,” Raven declares as she pulls her fingers away from Octavia’s neck, “But it’s weak.”

“Clarke, can you help her or what?” Bellamy roars over the chaos and she looks up at him with wide anxious eyes.

She can tell that he’s really shaken up, _it’s his sister_ , she reminds herself, but he was doing everything he can to keep what little of his sanity he had left together.

“Bellamy I…” She never performed a procedure like this before and with everyone currently eyeing her – she feels like she’ll be the next one lying on that table.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bellamy moves towards his sister’s paling form, “We have to go to the hospital.”

More pounding.

She doesn’t even know if she’s breathing when she says, “No wait – I can do it.”

All heads snap in her direction and she races over to the med kit. “You don’t know who’s still out there,” she says as calmly as she can but she’s clearly still unsteady, “Give me some room.”

They do as she says, parting like the red sea, except for Bellamy who’s still hovering over Octavia. There are creases in his forehead as he lace’s his fingers with his sister’s. She sees him squeeze hard only for him to swallow thickly when she doesn’t react.

She’s setting up her supplies when he speaks, “ _Please_ ,” he rasps and she averts her gaze away from the kit to his fearful brown eyes, “I need my sister.”

She manages a single nod, she never thought she’d experience a terrified Bellamy, she thinks as she sterilizes her hands, “I have to focus on Octavia,” she speaks loudly without deterring her concentration from washing the needed gear, “I can’t have all of you watching me.”

This time they don’t move. There’s some shuffling and soft murmurs, but nobody leaves. Bellamy’s head whips up with a solid glare, “Get the hell out!”

And that’s all that’s required as they rush towards the door, she hears Raven bid her a good luck before the door closes soundly behind them. Clarke pushes the fabric of Octavia’s shirt up until the hem is a few inches above her naval.

“Keep applying pressure on the wound,” she instructs, “I need to clean it out.” She grabs the syringe.

“Are you going to be able to remove the bullet?”

She licks her lips as her fingers dip into the cut, she can hear a soft hiss escape Bellamy’s lips at her actions, “Depends how deep it is. It might actually be better if I leave it in.”

He doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t bother to look up for a reaction. Her fingers brush against the metal, “I feel it,” she tells him, “She’s lucky it didn’t hit anything important.”

“Lucky,” Bellamy repeats with a scoff.

Clarke’s lips purse in a grim line, lucky probably wasn’t the smartest of word choices. “That means it’s not fatal.”

“If it’s not fatal, why is she unconscious?” Bellamy questions, desperation clear in his tone.

“It’s probably from shock or the pain,” Clarke answers, not even glancing at the man, “She’s lost a lot of blood but we were able to stop it so she’ll wake.”

She’s just not exactly sure _when_.

Bellamy’s eyes widen and then he exhales slowly as he stares at her, “You promise?”

“I promise,” she meet’s his eyes, pausing before continuing, “But if it is from shock, we need to elevate her legs and I need some blankets to keep her warm.”

Bellamy straightens, his hand still holding Octavia’s and she knows what he’s thinking.

“Bellamy, I know you don’t want to leave her,” she says quietly, “But nothing is going to happen to her. Not on my watch.”

She doesn’t know how these promises and trust came about. Especially dealing with his sister’s life but he bobs his head a few times before he’s rushing out the room. She hears an overload of questions coming from the hallway where she assumes the rest of them are waiting.

“Octavia,” she whispers, “Octavia, you need to fight. You hear me?”

She recalls one of her professor’s talking about how speaking to the patients (even the ones who seem to be on the brink of death) usually have a positive outcome. The majority of the class rolled their eyes, mumbling about her nonsense, but Clarke found it oddly comforting.

“Your brother needs you,” she tells her as she brushes a strand of hair out of her face at the same time Bellamy bursts back into the room.

He’s holding a pile of blankets and his eyes are broadened as he looks back and forth between them.

“Put them under her legs,” she says, “Once she’s angled properly, I’ll be able to get it out easily.”

With her legs propped up, Clarke hands over the small flash light the kit comes with to Bellamy. “Hold it right…” she covers her hand with his, his skin cold under hers, “Here. Okay, don’t move.”

He looks nervous but he’s not shaking which was enough for Clarke. Before long (Clarke is slightly impressed with her time) she’s eradicating the bullet and covers the wound in bandages. She makes sure it’s extra secure and Bellamy quickly wraps Octavia in the rest of the blankets.

“She’s going to need a lot of water,” she’s still in full doctor(ish) mode, pacing back and forth and ticking at her fingers when she lists the next things to come. “And food. Nutrition is really important right now. She should also stay in bed for at least a week or two.”

When Clarke glances behind her, Bellamy is staring down at Octavia, his hand in hers again, and his thumb tracing her forehead. Then he’s touching the side of her neck – her pulse – his eyes fall shut, “I think it’s getting better.”

Clarke hurries over, replacing his fingers with her own and she almost cries out in relief, “It is,” she says, “This is good. This is really good.”

She stops herself when she realizes her bad choice of words again but this time Bellamy is nodding along with her.

“How long until she wakes?” he asks.

“Shouldn’t be long,” she answers, she _hopes_ , “Like I said, nothing vital was struck.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Okay.”

Clarke inclines her head backwards, “I should go tell everyone that she’ll be fine.”

She moves towards the door but before she can reach the handle, his hand wraps around her elbow and he’s turning her to him again.

“You saved my sister’s life,” Bellamy states quietly. The worry lines around his face are still visible but they have noticeably softened, “Thank you.”

Clarke still wasn’t used to his scrutiny but this time it was different. Instead of it being firm or probing, it’s gentle and grateful.

“Of course,” she replies, “I mean it’s my job.”

He drops his hand to his side and a muscle in his jaw ticks, “Right.”

At his reaction, she immediately wants to take back her words but she just straightens her posture, “The bandages are equipped for these kind of wounds,” she tells him, “But tomorrow I’ll drop by the hospital and get what I need to stich her up just in case.”

He nods again, he’s barley even looking at her and she can see the way his fingers curl into a fist.

Due to her comforting nature, her hand reaches out to touch his upper arm. The contact causes him to lift his head, “She’s okay,” she reassures him, “I know that must have been pretty fucking scary but Octavia is still here.”

His eyes are dark, tired, he manages a nod, “She’s still here.”

She gives him a sad smile before she covers her mouth with the back of her hand to stifle her yawn. Bellamy raises his eyebrow for a moment, looking almost like he was debating with himself. She’s about to turn away once more when he stops her with his fingers around her wrist.

“Stay.”

Her eyes widen at his request. For a moment her heart stops. She can feel her skin heating at the touch of his rough fingers. He doesn’t drop his hand or his gaze. Waiting for her to respond.

She swallows, “What?”

“Stay the night,” he says, “It’s late and you’re tired. I don’t blame you.” She can pretty much hear his unspoken words, _saving someone’s life will probably drain all your energy_.

She thinks about her mother. She’d have an aneurism if she realized she wasn’t in her bed. Though she’s not exactly sure if she’d even notice with her working almost twelve hour shifts at the hospital, she might not even make it home until nine or ten in the morning. She could always text her that she’s staying over an old friend’s place – it’s not exactly a lie. Raven _does_ live here.

“Where would I sleep?” she asks, her voice is quiet. Feeling slightly vulnerable.

She sees the way his expression softens, relaxing when he realizes she’s not going to protest. She almost smiles. “You can sleep in my bed,” he tells her, “I’m staying at Octavia’s side until she wakes.”

Clarke bites the inside of her cheek, nodding, “Okay…uh…thanks.”

He looks as if he wants to smile, maybe under different circumstances he would, “Thank _you_ , Clarke.”

She doesn’t respond, just bobs her head up and down once more and heads towards the door before he shoots his hand out once more and stops her. When she pivots, his hand is now rubbing the back of his neck, “Second drawer,” he says to which Clarke quirks a brow, “My t-shirts. You probably don’t want to sleep in that.”

She looks down at her attire, her jeans and white top that now had a few blood stains on the bottom, she mentally makes a note about ditching the shirt before her mom finds it.

When she lifts her head, he’s watching her, waiting for a response, so she says, “Thank you… _again_. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah, you will.”

She turns back around, hiding the smile that’s threatening to overcome her lips because right now the situation is totally inappropriate to do just that. Bellamy takes the questions about Octavia’s state while she heads towards his room.

His room is just the way she left it those days ago, everything from the messed up bed to the pushed in chairs. She slowly approaches his dresser, feeling as if she’s nearing territory she shouldn’t. She mentally chastises herself for being so idiotic. _It’s a fucking dresser_ , she reminds herself.

Opening the second drawer, ignoring the temptation to look through the others, she pulls out a grey t-shirt that’s so big that when she puts it on it covers her knees. She discards her jeans as well and slides under the covers of Bellamy’s bed. _Bellamy’s_ _bed_.

She’s amazed of how comfortable the mattress feels and how quick her eyes start to droop.

Maybe she could get used to these surprise sleepovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry if the medical stuff doesn’t sound at all accurate because I tried googling everything but apparently the internet doesn’t have a lot of valuable information when it comes to what I was writing so I hope I didn’t lose anyone’s interest since I was probably way off base.


End file.
